One Equal Temper
by Sakura Tsukikage
Summary: After the end of "The Galileo Seven," Captain Kirk deals with the repercussions aboard his ship and his first officer's doubt over his own suitability for command.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** This begins very closely after the end of the episode "The Galileo Seven," and is meant to continue the story and bring to what I felt was an emotional conclusion as well as a plot-related one. The title comes from a line from Tennyson's "Ulysses"—"That which we are, we are; one equal temper of heroic hearts."

**Disclaimer: **Star Trek and all characters therein were created by Gene Roddenberry and the copyrights belong to Paramount and therefore Viacom. I couldn't possibly own them without huge amounts of money or time travel, neither of which I have yet managed to attain.

**One Equal Temper**

**One**

It probably hadn't been the wisest career decision to tell the High Commissioner exactly where to shove it, but he wouldn't be the first member of the top brass that Captain Kirk had managed to . . . severely annoy, and Kirk didn't regret a word of the conversation. It wasn't as if he could have offended the man any more than he already had by practically ordering him off his bridge, and Kirk had other friends at High Command.

Either way, he had not left High Commissioner Ferris with a shining impression of Starfleet's youngest captain. He was having a hard time caring. It was more than worth it to have the crew of the _Galileo_ back and safe. Or at least mostly back and safe. He regretted the deaths of Latimer and Gaetano, of course; he regretted every life lost on his ship, but he felt a vague guilt at how completely his relief at having the others back overshadowed that regret. He hadn't dared to hope for that much for what seemed like an eternity or two by this point, despite his determination not to give up on his people. Spock, Bones, Scotty—and Ferris had just expected him to turn his back and write them off? What had he thought Kirk would do? No captain relished the idea of having to replace more than half his senior officers, and there was no way Kirk'd been about to sit back and take it the way Ferris had wanted.

It would be a relief when Ferris was off his ship and onto his next destination, playing intimidation games with some other hapless Starfleet captain. The man was a power-crazed egomaniac.

Kirk realized his opinion wasn't quite fair (he was fairly sure the commissioner had a similar opinion of him, for one thing) and probably colored quite a bit by his own feelings about the narrowly averted disaster. So be it. That didn't make him like Ferris any better. Thankfully, the latest confrontation between them was over, at least for the time being. Kirk had no doubt he'd be given an opportunity to hear another public airing of the commissioner's opinions of himself and the ship he ran at least once more before they put in at Makus III, but for now he was determined to turn his attention to more important matters, like the welfare of his crew.

"Bones?" he asked as he made his way into sickbay. His Chief Medical Officer had requested his presence there shortly after he'd dismissed his newly rescued officers from the bridge to get some rest. He'd had to argue with Spock to get him to actually leave his station. He frowned at the memory. There was trouble there, and it bothered him that he hadn't been able to get a better read on his first officer's reactions to the disastrous outcome of his first command. He'd tried to tease an admission out of him with his playful comments on the bridge about Spock's last strategy, but his tactic had been far from successful, and now he worried that the attempt might have hurt more than it had helped. He thought he understood his first officer and friend fairly well by now, but sometimes the Vulcan still left him utterly baffled, guessing blindly in an attempt to figure out what was going on in Spock's head. He knew Spock wasn't as emotionless as he liked to claim, but it was sometimes hard to figure out if Kirk should call him on it or not. He was better used to dealing with emotions when they were all too present than the opposite, in himself and in his crew. He sighed. Well. At least Spock didn't intimidate the hell out of him anymore, like he had when he'd first come aboard as captain and found himself face to face with Chris Pike's famous Vulcan science officer. Progress, right? "Bones?" he said again. Where was he? He'd come all the way down from the bridge because McCoy had said he wanted to talk in private; the least the doctor could do was actually show up.

But there he was, coming out of his office, grinning widely. "Nothing like crash-landing on a rocky planet covered in spear-wielding apemen to help you appreciate the conditions back home," McCoy said, satisfaction overlaying the still slightly shaky relief in his voice.

Kirk smiled in return as he finished making his way into the room, the door swishing shut behind him. It was good to have his ship's doctor back on board. "I'll remind you of that the next time you complain about the facilities," he said, "or about having to operate on bizarre alien species. At least there aren't any apemen aboard."

"I don't know," McCoy returned. "Sometimes I wonder about some of those security boys."

Kirk laughed. Harsh as it was, McCoy did have a point. He leaned back against one of the biobeds. "You wanted to talk to me about something."

McCoy sobered, his face creasing into a frown. "I did," he said. "Jim—" he hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind to say his piece and be done with it. "Speaking of those bizarre alien species," he said, stopped, took a deep breath. "I'm worried about Spock," he finished in a rush then, like that had unlocked everything he'd wanted to say, continued on without so much as a breath. "It was a helluva first command experience for anyone, and we all just made it harder on him. Like it wasn't already bad enough. He was trying to command the only way he knew how, and he didn't do a half bad job, but we all took it like he was asking us to jump into volcanoes because he didn't say please and thank you. Boma was way outta line. Heck, I was practically as bad." He sighed. "Now, could be I'm just projecting, or that I'm feeling guilty about my part in encouraging what was pretty damn blatant insubordination so I'm overreactin' now it's all over and the pressure's off, but I had to say something. We questioned pretty much every decision he made, and, well, we're here now, aren't we? At least most of us." He shrugged and perched his hands on his hips. "Plus I'd like to get him in here and take a look at that leg of his. He had a pretty close run-in with a rock tossed by an apeman himself."

Kirk frowned. He hadn't expected McCoy's words to so closely mirror his own thoughts and concerns. Spock hadn't mentioned anything about an injury, though now that he thought about it, he seemed to remember that the Vulcan had been limping slightly on the bridge. "Well, I can take care of that easily enough," he said a little absently, his thoughts focusing in on McCoy's earlier words. "You said Lieutenant Boma was insubordinate?" His mind went back to Lieutenant Stiles's attitude during the Romulan incident not too long ago. He hoped this wasn't more of the same. Narrow-minded bigotry had no place on a Federation starship, especially not toward an experienced officer who had proven his competence and loyalty many times over.

"Rude, disrespectful, the whole shebang," McCoy said and shrugged. "I'd suggest an official reprimand, Jim."

Kirk clasped his hands as his worry kicked up a notch. How big of a mess was he going to have to clean up? An official reprimand—damn it. "And you, Bones?" he asked, studying McCoy's face. "You said you were almost as bad."

McCoy flushed, but shrugged. "I can at least recognize that he saved our behinds out there," he said bluntly. "I'm not so sure about Boma's ability to see that. But you'll have to do whatever you feel's appropriate."

Kirk gave a slight smile. "I'm sure it won't come to that in your case," he said. "Recognizing your mistakes is the first step to fixing them, after all." And in the future, he'd be thinking twice about fulfilling his orders to study quasars—a perfect example of just that. His officers weren't the only ones who'd made mistakes this time around. In the end, it was his own recklessness in ordering the mission in the first place that had cost the lives of two members of his crew, as well as Ensign O'Neill of the search party, and had almost killed five more, including his two closest friends. He looked down at his hands. "All the details, complimentary or otherwise, will be in your report?"

"Sure will, Jim."

Kirk shrugged. "Then that's good enough for me. I'll take your recommendation into consideration." He wondered if Spock were in his quarters now. They were both signed off the bridge for their shifts today, and Bones had just given him the perfect logical excuse to intrude on his first officer's private time. Besides, the basic rule of damage control was the faster, the better. True in just about every case. "You're all right?" he asked, glancing back up.

"Me?" McCoy sounded vaguely surprised. "I'm fine. A little shook up still, but pretty much as good as new."

"Well, good." Kirk pushed himself back up to his feet and turned to clap a hand to the doctor's shoulders. "Good to have you back, Bones," he said, and despite his other concerns his smile felt wide and genuine. Whatever the fallout from this, the worry was infinitely preferable to the sort he'd suffered for the last several days, not even knowing if his officers were alive, if there was any point to looking for them at all.

"Good to be back," McCoy said with an answering grin. "You'd better believe it. Thought we were so much space dust."

Kirk buried his wince at those words before he could think about that possibility too much. The past was past. They were all home now. "Space dust? My best officers?" he said with a grin. "Never."

"It was pretty damn close," McCoy reminded him.

"We're Starfleet officers. Close is the name of the game. But you know what they say about horseshoes and hand-grenades."

"Sure do. Never quite got that saying, though." McCoy's grin widened. "Close in horseshoes don't matter a thing."

Kirk laughed, feeling something in his shoulders relax despite the concerns still riding him. "Depends on how you play the game, Doc. Well, I guess I'm off to check on how my first officer's holding up."

McCoy gave a start of mock surprise. "So you _do_ listen to my advice. Who knew?"

"And how do _you_ know that wasn't my next stop anyway? I'd hate to break my perfect record of ignoring my doctor's recommendations except when directly ordered to shape up or in cases of imminent collapse."

"Well, it's your loss." McCoy stopped for a moment, and his face turned serious again. "Jim," he said. "Be . . . careful." The unspoken words that would have formed the end of the sentence seemed clear enough—_with what you say to him. With what you do._

Kirk considered his words, his concerned face. Whether it stemmed from misplaced guilt or not, McCoy truly was worried. "Understood," he said.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **Star Trek and all characters therein were created by Gene Roddenberry and the copyrights belong to Paramount and therefore Viacom. I couldn't possibly own them without huge amounts of money or time travel, neither of which I have yet managed to attain.

**One Equal Temper**

**Two**

Kirk thought about what conversational tactics were likely to get him the farthest on the way to Spock's quarters, but he still had only the barest sketch of an idea of what he was going to say when he reached the door. But then, he'd gone into battle before with less defined plans. Not as his first choice, true, but he was still alive, as was the vast majority of his crew. A fairly good record when it came to making it up as he went along.

He stopped outside Spock's door and keyed the comm rather than just hit the buzzer. "Kirk here," he started. "Spock, you in there? I need to talk to you."

There was a moment of silence, long enough for Kirk to begin to wonder if perhaps Spock had instead retreated to the rec room or observation deck after being relieved from the bridge, but then the low voice came in response, "Come."

Not exactly a promising response, but Spock didn't tend toward enthusiastic greetings even at the best of times. Kirk gave a mental shrug and stepped inside.

He braced himself for the increased heat of the environmental conditions inside Spock's quarters, knowing that he kept it as close to Vulcan normal as he could, but the hot dryness of the air still hit him in the face like a load of bricks as the door closed behind him. Whew. He had a great deal of respect for the physical stamina of Spock's human mother. Spock appeared to have been seated at his desk, but he rose to his feet when Kirk entered. Remembering McCoy's words about a leg injury, he hurriedly waved him back down.

"Captain," Spock said stiffly. "I apologize for the delay in acknowledging your entrance. I was engaged in preparing my report on the Murasaki 312 mission."

Kirk couldn't suppress a slight, rueful smile. He should have expected as much. "Come on, Spock," he said. "I ordered you off the bridge to get some rest. The report can wait."

"You will require the reports of all officers involved prior to making any decisions based on the outcome of this mission," Spock replied. Despite his resuming his seated position, neither his posture nor his voice relaxed in the slightest. "It then follows that it is my responsibility to file it as quickly as possible."

"Maybe," Kirk allowed, "but I don't need it right this second. You're off-duty, take a rest. Any decisions I need to make can wait a day or so."

There was a pause frozen in time, with Spock's hand still resting on the controls of the computer, then he carefully withdrew it and placed it behind his back. "I do not believe that they can, Captain," he said. His voice had gone from stiff to completely flat. Kirk hid a grimace. Bones and his suspicions had both been right on target. Something was definitely wrong. Only to be expected, of course—losing people you were responsible for was never easy, and losing them during your first experience with command would make it even harder. But part of him had hoped, despite that hope being largely contrary to his earlier observations, that Spock's logical nature would make it easier on him, that he would recognize that he had made the only decisions he could to save the majority of those people, as so few humans in his position were able to do.

He should have known better. Spock was half-human, after all, and even Vulcan logic couldn't entirely erase the sting of loss, whether a Vulcan would ever have admitted that or not. It was part of being alive. Besides, Kirk had noticed that Spock's Vulcan logic never seemed to cut the man himself much slack.

"I think I can be the judge of that," he said easily, despite the mental alarm Spock's words raised. He didn't _believe his decisions could wait_? What was that supposed to mean, anyway? He looked past Spock, toward the back of his quarters, watching him out of the corner of his eyes. That statue in the back was . . . ugly. Was it from Vulcan? It didn't fit his mental image of the planet, somehow. But then, there was an awful lot he didn't know about Vulcan. "It is my job, after all."

"Forgive me, Captain. It is indeed one of your functions about the _Enterprise_ to make such judgments, but I do not think that you can fulfill that function with the necessary accuracy, not without being made aware of the events that took place on the planetoid in the center of the Murasaki 312 effect. Thus the importance of my report being filed in a timely manner."

"Well, I'm not completely in the dark, you know," Kirk said. He smiled, his best attempt at friendly charm, trying to coax Spock to unbend a little. He realized that closing down like this was one of the ways his Vulcan first officer dealt with troubling events, but Spock was his friend as well as one of his best officers, and Kirk couldn't help him fix whatever the problem was if Spock was determined to completely shut out his friend Jim Kirk and talk only to his captain. The Vulcan wasn't quite meeting his eyes, either, not exactly looking away but avoiding direct eye contact, and that bothered him. Spock _met_ his eyes. He just did. But, apparently, not now. "Bones filled me in on a lot of what happened down there. Actually, that's one of the reasons I'm here. He said he wanted to check on you—something about one of those natives tossing rocks in your . . . general direction?"

Spock looked down. "I plan to report to sickbay as soon as my report is finished and logged. It is not terribly serious. I did manage to return to my quarters under my own power."

Kirk studied him for a moment. He crossed his arms across his chest almost before he realized he was doing it, settled his weight against the floor. "I think I'd like you to report to sickbay now," he said.

"I am not attempting to conceal the severity of my injury, Captain," Spock said, a slight touch of inflection returning to the monotone voice. He sounded almost . . . annoyed. "Such an action would be most illogical. I shall certainly report to sickbay as soon as I'm finished here."

"Leaving your leg untreated until then," Kirk said. "Spock . . . tell me. How bad is it?"

Spock didn't look up at him. "I am concerned," he said, "that the analgesic that Doctor McCoy is certain to prescribe for me will hamper my ability to put my thoughts in order, making the composition of my report effectively impossible. I would prefer to wait for such treatment until after it is completed."

It was bad. If Spock thought the kind of painkiller Bones would give him would put him out like that, then it had to be. But Spock knew his own limits, his own mind, and he must have a good reason for choosing to complete his report before allowing the doctor to attend to his injury. Kirk studied Spock's face. His features were drawn, tired, but his jaw was set with determination. It didn't seem likely that he would change his stance on this, at least not willingly. Kirk considered a moment longer, then turned abruptly to hit the comm button with his fist. "Kirk to sickbay," he said. "Medical team to First Officer Spock's quarters, as soon as possible." He hesitated a moment, but figured that Bones would follow the implication of his request without the need for further instructions. "Kirk out."

Spock half rose. "Captain!"

"Sit down, Mr. Spock!"

Spock didn't look happy about it, not in the least, but he obeyed, slowly, his brows drawing together as his eyes slid away to focus on the wall directly across from his desk. "As I have already stated, Captain," he said, his voice gone completely flat again, "I do not require pain medication at this time."

"You don't have to take any," Kirk said. "I'm not going to order you to take drugs you don't . . . want to take. Just let Bones take a look. You know I can't walk out of here knowing you have a leg injury that hasn't been treated, hasn't even been so much as looked at. After he fixes you up, you can finish your report. No ingestion of painkillers necessary, though if it's all that bad I'd certainly recommend one of the milder ones." Spock still looked unconvinced. Kirk sighed. He crossed directly in front of Spock's line of sight and leaned forward, propping his hands on the desk, almost invading Spock's personal space. "See it my way," he said, making his voice go relaxed, affectionate, almost teasing. ""Isn't it . . . illogical . . . to delay treatment for an injury that could quickly and easily be dealt with? Isn't it logical for me to want to make certain that my first officer is going to be all right? You've been hurt. I want you well before I want your report. What's so wrong with that?" Still no response. "Spock," Kirk said quietly, "I'm not going to make any decisions about anything until I'm certain of the welfare of my surviving officers anyway."

A moment passed before Spock said, "Very well, Captain. Your point is valid. I will allow Doctor McCoy to examine my injury, and treat it to the best of his ability without administering any mind-altering analgesics."

Satisfied, at least for the moment, Kirk removed his hands from the desk and stepped back. "Very good," he said. "Thank you, Mr. Spock."

"There is nothing to thank me for, Captain," Spock said. "You have expressed a concern for my welfare. I have accepted its validity. That is all."

"Well," Kirk said, rocking back on his heels, "even so, thank you for accepting my judgment even though it isn't what you'd have preferred."

"I do not require thanks in this matter," Spock said. "You _are_ my commanding officer."

Kirk sighed. "Yes," he said, mentally giving up on the issue. Spock obviously intended to be stubborn about it, and he might as well save the effort it would take to argue him down for other endeavors. He linked his hands behind his back and looked down at the floor. "So I am." He contemplated the situation for a moment, searching Spock's face as he did so. His features were impossible to read, as was so often the case, but he seemed worn, drained, uncomfortable in Kirk's presence. Very nearly unhappy. If it had been any of his other officers, Kirk would have thought him depressed over the outcome of the recent mission. But Spock? Did Vulcans even get depressed? Spock would have no doubt called such a reaction illogical, but he _was_ half human, and humans were all too prone to such emotions.

Kirk had been . . . depressed the first time he'd lost someone under his direct command. Angry. Hell, he thought, remembering his days as a junior officer, he'd been absolutely furious with himself, and his despondency had dragged on for almost a week before Gary had managed to shake him out of his gloom and guilt and impotent anger and forced him to look at it from an objective standpoint, made him realize that, yes, he'd made mistakes, but it would be a bigger one to let them overwhelm him. Kirk couldn't imagine Spock ever having such a purely emotional reaction, to anything, but surely someone with his scientific respect for life would regret the loss of two men under his command.

He was pondering the possibilities of that when the buzzer went off at the door. Spock looked up, his lips compressing into a tight line, and said, "Come."

Dr. McCoy entered the room a second later, medical kit in hand. "I'll tell you one thing," he said. "This had better be about that ankle injury you got down there on Taurus, Mr. Spock. I swear I heard the crack of that rock hitting his leg where I stood, Jim." He turned to Spock. "And you can't tell me you aren't feeling it—I saw you limping your way up to the bridge."

Spock took a deep breath. "Indeed, Doctor," he said. "I do not intend to deny the existence of the injury."

Kirk nodded at McCoy, partly to defuse the monologue the doctor seemed to be gearing toward. He'd heard McCoy's typical complaints on the subject enough himself. "Yes, Bones," he said, and waved a hand in Spock's direction. "Feel free. Just—no painkillers."

McCoy was already halfway to Spock, but he stopped and looked back at Kirk incredulously at that. "No painkillers?" he repeated.

"I do not require them at this time," Spock broke in, "and my current acceptance of treatment is contingent on the condition that I may delay the application of any such drugs you may prescribe until such a time that I feel their benefits outweigh their drawbacks."

McCoy looked back at Kirk, who crossed his arms and nodded as he leaned back against the wall of Spock's room. "You heard him," he said.

"But Jim—" McCoy started, but Kirk shook his head.

"His choice, Bones." He kept his tone mild, but McCoy sighed and turned to Spock as if giving up on a lost cause.

"You sure?" he said. "Not even you can logic away pain—it'll probably hurt something fierce for a good long while."

"I am well aware of that, Doctor," Spock said.

"I can use a local anesthetic to take the edge off if I have to set it, but I'd prefer to give you something that'd actually help with the pain," McCoy continued.

"Please, Doctor," Spock said, his voice gone tight with control. "I am aware of the ramifications of my stated choice concerning medication. Simply do your work."

"Aren't you gonna lie down or something?" McCoy asked. "Probably make it easier on you if you do."

"I am fine here, Doctor." Spock stuck out one foot and bent down to tug at his boot. Kirk pushed himself away from the wall as the boot caught and Spock seemed to struggle to pull it off, but McCoy was already there. He cut through the tight boot with what looked like a laser scalpel and eased it off in pieces, scolding Spock for allowing the injury to get so swollen before allowing anyone to look at it all the while. As the doctor ran both scanner and fingers over the injury, which was indeed badly swollen, a nasty mixture of green and dark blue bruising all the way from Spock's toes up his shin, a constant litany of chiding admonitions accompanying his ministrations, Kirk felt a certain perverse sense of vindication. At least he wasn't the only one Bones carped at like this over injuries.

"Just as I expected," McCoy said after a moment, interrupting his own complaints about reckless Starfleet officers who couldn't be bothered to attend to their own physical welfare. "This is broken, Mr. Spock." Spock just nodded as if he had anticipated that diagnosis, though his lips tightened again at the news. McCoy threw up his hands. "What am I going to do with you two? Why even bother to have a doctor if you don't care one way or the other what I tell you?"

"Illogical," Spock said, his voice hoarse with strain as McCoy continued with his work, administering what had to be a local anesthetic just above his ankle. Kirk watched Spock's shoulders relax minutely as the numbing agent took effect and thought that the injury had been hurting him even more than Kirk had realized. "I take all medical advice under due consideration, as, I'm sure, does the captain."

McCoy sent a challenging look back in Kirk's direction, which he just answered with a grin and a half-shrug. "Sure I do, Bones," he said. "Due consideration."

"Which in your case means actual physical collapse and not a moment before," McCoy grumbled. He moved his hands on Spock's ankle, and Kirk figured from Spock's quickly suppressed wince and the sudden pallor of his greenish complexion despite the anesthetic that he'd set the bone back into place. A moment later he was running a knitter over the wound.

Kirk met Spock's eyes and gave an exaggeratedly long-suffering sigh as he directed his glance down at McCoy, giving a what-can-you-do shrug and letting mischief tug at the corner of his mouth. Teasing McCoy would distract Spock from whatever discomfort he was suffering, at least.

"I heard that, Jim," McCoy muttered. He finished with the knitter and dug out another instrument Kirk wasn't quite as familiar with. It looked like some kind of bone-strength stimulator.

"Indeed, Captain," Spock said as McCoy applied the new instrument to his ankle.

"Say all you want," McCoy said, "we all know the both of you wouldn't still be around to harass me if it weren't for my so-called paranoia over the things you do to yourselves, so you two had better get used to it."

"Oh, I know that, Bones," Kirk said. "It's not that I don't appreciate your abilities."

"Yeah, well, sometimes I think you have a little bit too much respect for them," McCoy retorted. "If I weren't the doctor I am, you'd have to take better care of yourselves, wouldn't you?"

"Who knows?" Kirk asked cheerfully. "If you weren't the doctor you are, maybe we'd just be dead."

McCoy glared back at him as he dug in his kit and brought out a flexible support bandage, which he proceeded to wrap around Spock's foot and ankle, but he appeared to have decided that the comment didn't deserve to be dignified with a response. "I know better than to expect you to stay off this, Mr. Spock," he said, "so I figure I'd better provide some extra support so you don't just snap it again before the knitter and the osteogenic stimulator take completely."

"I thank you for the consideration, Doctor," Spock said gravely.

McCoy turned his dissatisfied stare on him as he attempted to draw his leg back. "It'd still be best if you took it easy for another day or two. And I want to see you again in twenty-four hours, just to make sure everything sets all right." He frowned. "I prefer to do my treatments in sickbay, when there's no reason why I can't. I do have standards, you know."

"We know, Bones," Kirk broke in, "and believe me, I appreciate you being so quick to accommodate my requests like this."

McCoy just shrugged, giving a sigh. "He probably wouldn't have stayed in sickbay long enough for it to set properly anyway," he said. He finished making certain the bandage was wound and appropriately tightened, then got to his feet.

"I do not plan to risk re-injury," Spock said.

"Sure you don't," McCoy returned, his sarcasm obvious. Spock just raised one eyebrow in response. Kirk couldn't keep back a smile as he pushed himself away from the wall and started forward. They seemed to be getting along as well as ever.

"Then you're done?" he asked.

"For the moment, anyway," McCoy said. "At least try to stay off your feet, Mr. Spock."

"I shall endeavor to do so," Spock replied.

"At least he's honest," McCoy said, turning to Kirk. "Not like some other people I know who'd just have said, 'Sure thing, Bones,' and then gone and walked around on it anyway."

"I have no idea who you might be talking about," Kirk said. "Everyone on my crew obeys their doctor's orders. Don't they, Spock?"

"They do, Captain," Spock responded, in a tone that suggested anything else would simply be too ridiculous to contemplate.

"Maybe everyone else on your crew does," McCoy replied. Kirk grinned in response. It was probably good to have a CMO who knew him as well as Bones did. McCoy stopped next to him on his way out the door. "Good job getting' me in here," he said in a low voice. "How's he doing?" His face said the question had little or nothing to do with Spock's physical condition.

Kirk just shrugged, letting his expression answer for him. In the end, he just wasn't sure. Spock didn't seem willing to talk, and everything he'd said so far Kirk had practically had to pry out of him, but he did seem marginally more willing to engage in discussion with his captain than with anyone else. It was probably just the effect of his rank, but even if that were the case Kirk still planned to take advantage of it if that was the only way to get Spock to tell him what was bothering him.

"He'll be all right," McCoy answered, his voice still pitched low. "He'll talk to you, Jim."

"You think so?" Kirk asked, not really expecting an answer. McCoy seemed confident enough, but it seemed far from a foregone conclusion to him.

"If anyone," McCoy answered. "And don't _you_ start worrying now about this now. One's enough." He turned back. "Remember, twenty-four hours and I see you again, Mr. Spock," he said, to which Spock merely nodded, and then he stepped out of the room.

The door slid shut behind him, and Kirk turned back to face his first officer across the small room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: **Star Trek and all characters therein were created by Gene Roddenberry and the copyrights belong to Paramount and therefore Viacom. I couldn't possibly own them without huge amounts of money or time travel, neither of which I have yet managed to attain.

**One Equal Temper**

**Three**

The not quite uncomfortable silence that followed McCoy's exit seemed to devour anything even halfway intelligent Kirk might have come up with to say in the wake of the doctor's presence, so he swallowed the inanities that rose automatically to the tip of his tongue and the silence dragged on as Kirk studied Spock and tried to figure out what was going on in that brilliant head of his. For his part, Spock appeared to find the surface of his desk the most fascinating thing since the last sub-space anomaly.

Finally, Spock raised his head just enough to look past his desk at that point in the wall he'd been staring at so fixedly earlier. "Was the message relaying the doctor's concerns the only reason you wished to speak with me?" he asked.

"No," Kirk said honestly, with a half smile. "It was just my excuse so that you wouldn't . . . throw me right out again should you prove to not be in the mood to deal with your difficult, over-emotional, all-too human commanding officer." He tried to make eye contact with Spock again, tried to connect, tried another smile, felt it fall flat. "Not that I would blame you, but I'm more than your captain, I'm your friend. At least I like to think that I am. As a friend, and as a more experienced officer, in the area of losing people under one's command at least, I thought you might want someone to talk to. Frustrating as I may be."

"Frustration is a human emotion, Captain," Spock said after a moment.

"And I suppose you're going to say that so is friendship," Kirk broke in. He took a deep breath and told himself to blow his own frustration right back out with it. It wasn't Spock's fault that Kirk was having issues with this tendency of his at the moment. It was just the way he was, and if Kirk lost his temper with him over it he would be no better than the members of his crew whose actions were in question. Most of the time he relied on Spock's cool logic in the face of pressure. He couldn't praise the man for the trait when it pleased him and condemn him for it when it didn't; it wasn't fair. Kirk slid his hands together behind his back and clasped the fingers of one around the wrist of the other.

Spock looked away completely, and when he spoke again his voice was so hoarsely quiet that Kirk could barely make out the single word. "Yes." He got up, turned his back on Kirk as he started for the divider that split his quarters into two parts. His limp was painfully obvious.

"And what about guilt?" Kirk demanded. Spock stopped with one hand on the partition but didn't turn, and Kirk's frustration boiled up beneath the surface of his skin, a sudden burst of angry heat. "I'm talking to you, Mr. Spock!" he barked. "You will look at me while I do!"

He felt the very same emotion he'd just mentioned when Spock turned slowly, unwillingly, but turned, of course, because Kirk had ordered him to, and met his gaze. For a brief moment, the Vulcan's face was dark with exhaustion, and Kirk could see the lines of that weariness and perhaps something more, some shadow of emotion Spock would never have consciously admitted to written deep across his features. A moment later the control was back as if it had never slipped, even the weariness largely gone, buried somewhere beneath that iron control. _God, Jim,_ Kirk thought with disgust at himself equally as intense as his previous irritation, _bully him some more, why don't you. _He came in here and asked Spock to talk to him as his friend, not his captain, and here he was throwing his rank in the other man's face. Beautiful. Flawless strategy. No doubt it would work perfectly. Sometimes he wanted to hit himself, he really did.

"Look, Spock, I—" he blew his breath out. "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

"No, Captain," Spock said, face and voice now a study in control. "It was not. On the contrary, I was disrespectful."

"I came here to be your friend, Spock, or . . . try to be," Kirk said. "You don't have to worry about being disrespectful to your friends." He gave a shaky grin and tried for a weak attempt at humor. "Just look at Bones." He hesitated. "Look, do you need anything? A new boot? I'll get it." He ducked around the partition at Spock's hesitant nod before the Vulcan could do anything to stop him, assuming the closet was located in the same place it was in his cabin. His assumption proved to be correct, and a second later he was handing Spock a new right boot, this one of the looser, off-duty variety.

"You are . . . very kind," Spock said. His voice had gone slightly unsteady. _No, I'm not,_ Kirk thought, his stomach clenching with more guilt, _not really_. "But you are my captain first . . . Jim." A deep breath. "It is vital that I, your . . . first officer . . . show the proper respect for your position."

"Not in private, it's not. Who's going to be listening in, the ship's computer? I think I'll survive the challenge to my authority." He stepped forward, let impulse carry him. His hand closed around Spock's forearm. "Listen, I'm no expert on how Vulcans deal with things like this, but I do know that the preservation of sentient life is important to you, maybe more important to you than to anyone else on this ship, and that includes me. I know you're not taking this lightly. You're not that kind of man." Spock opened his mouth to protest, but before he could Kirk amended his wording. "Vulcan. Being. It doesn't matter, not now, not with this." He searched Spock's face, looking for some sign that his words were getting through. "And this, none of it, means that you have to deal with . . . any of it alone. I'm here. For you to talk to, if you want. Got it?"

Spock looked back at him for a long moment. He was still holding the boot in his hand. "And if I decline your offer of counsel and friendship, Captain?" he asked. His voice was even, grave. There was no indication as to what he was feeling, if anything at all.

Kirk dropped his hand, swallowed hard. That had hurt. No more than he deserved, he reminded himself. "Then I'll leave," he said. "But I'll still have to talk to you about this sometime. Doctor McCoy recommended an official reprimand for Lieutenant Boma for the insubordination he showed toward you while the shuttle party was stranded, and I'll need to get your opinion on that at least."

After everything he'd already tried, he wasn't really expecting that to get a reaction; it was just a simple statement of fact, but Spock's eyes widened and his body stiffened, he sucked in his breath. "Lieutenant . . .?" he started, but let his words trail off into nothing as if he were having difficulty processing what Kirk had said. "Captain, no! This I cannot allow." It was the most emotional reaction he'd gotten out of Spock since he'd walked into his quarters. Kirk stared at him as Spock barreled on. "You are allowing your . . . feelings of friendship for me to lead you to overlook my transgressions, my errors in judgment, to see failures in others that originated in me alone. Captain—Jim—it is _I_ who should be on report. More than that, I should no longer be allowed to continue on in my position as the first officer of this ship. My abilities are . . . adequate to my post as science officer, perhaps that of second officer, the capacity in which I served Captain Pike, but no further. Lieutenant Boma described me as a—a machine, and I fear that in the essentials if not the specifics he was largely correct. The executive officer of the _Enterprise_, _your_ executive officer, should be an officer capable of commanding others effectively, of connecting with them on an emotional level. This is a task to which I am manifestly ill-suited, as you very well know, and now you have seen the disaster I make of command. You cannot allow me to continue in my post merely because you feel friendship for me. That is not what I want. That is not why I began to allow us to become . . . close. I—"

"Spock," Kirk said. He could hear how gentle his voice had gone. Spock just continued on with his desperate tirade. "Spock!" Kirk said more loudly and reached out to grasp Spock's shoulders. "Stop this. Listen to me. It's not like that."

Spock wrenched away and stared at him, his breath coming just slightly faster, deeper. "It . . . is not?" he asked with a valiant attempt at his usual stoicism.

Kirk let his hands drop and then didn't quite know what to do with them. Long-ingrained military instinct brought them tight behind his back again. "Not at all," he said. "First, you're the best first officer I could ever have imagined for the _Enterprise_—" briefly he remembered Gary again, and the old twinge of pain and guilt and betrayal twisted his gut, but it was true, without a doubt it was true—"far better than I had any right to expect you to become when I first gave you the position. You've done an exemplary job. Secondly, the first officer's role is to support and complement the captain. Perhaps you do struggle to connect with the crew. Fine. I don't need someone to do that. I need you, to . . . question the logic of my decisions, to reexamine the emotionality of my reactions before I think to do it, to figure things out before the computer gets a chance at it, to remind me that we're out here to explore when I forget what I've been given this big beautiful ship for in the first place. Can't you see what a mess we'd all be in if you weren't here to say, 'Captain, that is most illogical' whenever I get off track or target-fixated? Don't try to deny that happens," he said as Spock opened his mouth. "It would be illogical to say that I never make mistakes, and on my better days I know exactly what they are." He sighed. "And I've never thought you were angling for a promotion by spending time with me. I do remember practically having to order you into taking the position in the first place, you know."

There was a long silence, broken only by Kirk's own heartbeat pounding in his ears and a trickle of sweat making its way down his back—god, it was hot in there—as his mind raced wildly back over everything he'd said, searching for any overly heated displays of emotion Spock would have found humiliating or glaring gaps in his own brand of logic, before Spock took a deep breath. The Vulcan's eyes closed, and he seemed to waver for a split second before he opened them again and was looking Kirk in the face, his own completely shuttered. He was still meeting his eyes, but Kirk could read nothing in his any longer. "Be that as it may," he said, "without my failures as a commander on the Murasaki 312 mission Lieutenants Latimer and Gaetano would still be alive."

"Maybe," Kirk said. He let his hands rest on his hips. "Maybe not. You're certainly right about one thing—I don't know enough about what happened out there to make that sort of decision with any accuracy. Why don't you . . . tell me what happened on that planet? Tell me everything, what makes you think you deserve a reprimand and Boma doesn't, all of it. And then make let me make my own decision." He finally tried another smile. "It's not that I don't trust your judgment, but deciding these things for myself is a captain's prerogative; wouldn't you agree?"

Spock blew his breath out, dropped his eyes. "Indeed," he said. "I . . . cannot deny the logic of your request."

Now the smile felt genuine. "No?" Kirk asked.

"No."

"Well, then, let's get started," Kirk said quickly as Spock's balance suddenly seemed to waver once more. "Just—sit down, all right?"

Spock just looked at him. Kirk recognized the expression. It was one he got from him every day on the bridge, a barely noticeable quirk of the eyebrow. Seeing it then seemed to bring home to him all in a rush that everything was back to normal, that he had his officers back, and it was Kirk's turn to steady himself against a tremor of relief that was hard to bury. "Captain," Spock said, "Relating the experiences of the _Galileo_ mission team may take some time, and I am well aware that the environmental conditions in my quarters are not optimal for humans. Furthermore, I am afraid my cabin only contains one chair, the one accompanying my desk. Perhaps it would be best to remove to some more comfortable area beforehand."

More comfortable for him, maybe, Kirk thought, but not more comfortable for Spock, who was comfortable _here_, with the air too hot and red drapes in the background and . . . and that ugly statue back there. Besides, this was probably the most private arena in which they could hold this conversation. Kirk's own cabin might do, but there were a great many people with demands on his time, and the likelihood of them being interrupted there by some nonessential message the captain was nonetheless required to hear was all too high. "I'm fine here," he said. "I don't much care one way or the other. Be good for me to stand for a while after all that sitting on the bridge."

"Very well," Spock said, and sat. There was a moment of silence, as Spock carefully drew his boot on over the bandage. Kirk thought he'd have to prompt him again to get him started, but then Spock said, resting his hands once more on the desk, "You assigned me command of the mission because it was a scientific effort. Also because I am your first officer and therefore the logical choice for command when the captain is not available or not best-suited to the position in question. I understood this rationale, and therefore approached the mission as a scientific problem, much like the missions I was assigned to while studying at the Vulcan Science Academy." He paused and clasped his hands loosely on his desk. "I have no doubt that this would have been sufficient had the mission gone entirely as planned." No excuse, just a simple statement of fact. "However, the quasar phenomenon was significantly more unstable than our initial readings seemed to suggest."

_It certainly was that_, Kirk thought. True, it was his standing orders to study such phenomena, part of the extensive list of such directions Starfleet Command had handed him at the beginning of his five-year mission, and true, he would never have ordered the shuttlecraft expedition had there been any indication of undue danger, but the fact was he had almost lost most of his senior officers because he'd been trying to get up Ferris's nose and show him that Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. _Enterprise_ answered to a higher authority than the supercilious High Commissioner. _Well_, Kirk thought with a touch of rueful amusement, _I certainly accomplished that much, didn't I? Much good it did us._

Spock continued. "Shortly after entering the Murasaki 312 phenomenon, however, the shuttlecraft encountered an area of violent radiation which appears to have been an ion storm. It was blown off course and it soon became apparent that the electrical interference was obscuring both sensors and communications on both crafts, the _Galileo_ and the _Enterprise_. There was no choice but to make an emergency landing on the planetoid Taurus II." He stopped for a moment to look up at Kirk. "At this point I believe my actions were valid as well as perfectly justified. There was nothing that else anyone could have done, no alternatives either logical or illogical."

Kirk nodded, rather pleased with the success of his latest strategy. It'd taken long enough, but he'd finally managed to get Spock talking. "Certainly sounds that way to me. Go on."

Spock took a breath and continued. "While Mr. Scott attempted to repair the damage the shuttlecraft had sustained in the crash, I sent Lieutenants Latimer and Gaetano to scout the area, ordering them to remain in visual contact with the ship as they did so. In hindsight, it appears that by this point my . . . approach to the challenges facing us had caused some distress to the other crewmembers assigned to the mission, but at the time I was unaware of any such emotional disturbance and they obeyed my orders without comment. During the time Latimer and Gaetano were separated from the ship, Mr. Scott informed me that the shuttlecraft had lost significant amounts of fuel, such that it would be impossible to achieve escape velocity, and only possible to achieve orbit at all if the _Galileo_ were to find itself five hundred pounds lighter."

"About the weight of three men," Kirk said.

Spock's eyes flicked up to him. "Indeed, Captain," he said. "That was my first thought as well, and I suggested as much. The truth of this statement was met with consternation and distress, as is only logical, at least for humans, at the thought of abandoning one's friends and comrades or perhaps of being abandoned oneself, but it was not disputed. However, my approach to the solution of the problem was challenged, both by Doctor McCoy and Lieutenant Boma, who suggested a drawing of lots." He hesitated. "I realize that this is a time-honored tradition among those of Earth when faced with an untenable situation," he said, "but there was no logic in allowing random chance to choose who was to be left behind. I refused to entertain the notion, instead insisting that I would make a logical decision regarding the matter."

"I would have done the same, Spock," Kirk said in a quiet tone, watching him carefully. "Command isn't about abdicating your responsibilities for the sake of imagined fairness, and it's the commanding officer's duty to make that kind of choice."

"I appreciate your reassurance, Captain," Spock said, "but it is not necessary, in . . . this particular matter, at least. I believe that I again made the only possible choice in the situation in taking the responsibility upon myself." Maybe, Kirk mused, but there were many officers who would have leaped at the chance to let fate decide for them who was to go and who to stay, to take from them the burden of that most difficult of decisions. And those officers weren't ones he would have wanted in command under him, or anywhere else for that matter. "I believe I could have phrased my decision better, however," Spock continued. "I announced my conclusion in the sparely logical manner I would have used on a mission on Vulcan. I may have I overcompensated for my lack of experience in such matters by reverting to a pattern I was accustomed to in my youth. At any rate, my announcement of this decision caused some measure of discontent in my fellow officers. I believe they felt that I was being unfair, and the doctor that I was being callous. This, however," he added with a touch of what Kirk recognized as humor, "caused me no great surprise."

Kirk smiled slightly at that. He bet it hadn't, and he was glad Spock had a sense of humor about McCoy's constant ribbing, at least. "I'm sure," he said, keeping his voice grave despite his private amusement, knowing Spock could see his acknowledgment of the humor in his eyes. He was surprisingly perceptive that way. "Go on."

Spock shifted in his chair. "It was shortly afterward as we were engaged in assessing the damage to the hull of the _Galileo_ that one of the two officers sent out earlier on reconnaissance screamed. Lieutenant Boma and I rushed to the origin of the noise to discover that Lieutenant Latimer had been killed by a spear to the back tossed by one of the indigenous lifeforms. I scanned the area, but there was no sign of any such lifeform at the time. When I returned to the others and examined the spear, I angered them by appearing more concerned with the construction of the weapon than over Latimer's death." He hesitated. "I did . . . regret, but it seemed more important at the time to discover the nature of his attackers in an attempt to increase the chances of survival of those still alive. I now think that I handled the moment inadequately. Jim . . . you would have said, or done, something appropriate, perhaps inspiring, but it appears my experience of the emotional expectations of humans is still inadequate. I did not realize that such an acknowledgment was considered necessary until it was already too late, and the two remaining lieutenants had formed their opinion that I was largely unconcerned with their welfare."

"I see," Kirk said, careful to keep his own expression blank.

Spock's hands tightened their grip on one another, but his voice was just as even and controlled as it had been previously when he spoke again. "After the incident, Gaetano and Boma insisted on carrying Latimer's body back to the shuttlecraft themselves, refusing my aid. I returned to assisting Mr. Scott with the repairs. By doing this, I to some extent postponed my responsibility to finalize the decision about whom it was necessary to leave behind. This was partly due to practical concerns, as we attempted to lighten the load of the shuttle by removing non-essential cargo. However, the fact remains that I was uncomfortable with the decision, and thus postponed it unduly and . . . illogically, even when it became clear that we would only have to leave one behind. Had I made an immediate decision, rather than pushing Mr. Scott in an attempt to make that unnecessary, we might have been able to make it to orbit and contact the _Enterprise_ far more quickly than we did in the end, thereby resulting in the recovery of the shuttle and those aboard as well as the crewmember left on the surface."

"Equally likely that your hails would still have been obscured by the ion storm and whoever it was would have been killed by the creatures before you were ever able to contact us," Kirk observed mildly.

"Perhaps," Spock replied, but he didn't look at him. "Either way, that particular mistake was certainly not my last. After I refused to officiate at the services for Latimer in the interest of assisting with the essential repairs, I succeeded in further alienating the others, especially Mr. Boma, and my pushing of the issue resulted in the loss of the rest of the _Galileo_'s limited fuel, constraining our already limited options even further. A strategy was discussed in order to deal with the creatures when it became clear that their rather hostile interest in us had not abated. Gaetano and Boma favored a frontal assault, but I objected to this notion on the grounds that it would cause unnecessary death. I ordered phasers fired to frighten, not to kill. I acted . . . arrogantly." Spock stopped, looking down at his hands, and Kirk stayed silent, waiting for him to resume his recollections.

Eventually, Spock took a deep breath and continued on as if he had never paused. "I then left Gaetano to stand guard and returned with Boma to the shuttlecraft. Another mistake. Mr. Scott had devised a method of fueling the _Galileo_ with our phasers. When Mr. Gaetano did not report in a timely manner, we set out to search for him. He was not at his assigned post, though his phaser had been left behind. I gave it to Dr. McCoy along with my own to give to Mr. Scott and ordered both of the other officers to return while I searched for Gaetano. He, too, was dead. I returned his body to the _Galileo_ while the creatures increased the intensity of their attacks on us. It was increasingly apparent that I had miscalculated in my earlier actions. I believed that they would react logically to the threat of our superior force, but as Dr. McCoy warned me might happen, they reacted emotionally instead. Or so he assured me; I could find no reason for their actions. They did appear to be rational beings, but they did not react in any way I perceive as rationality. I can only conclude that if I had been capable of an emotional understanding I could have predicted this response, possibly in time to save Gaetano. We retreated to the shuttle while Mr. Scott proceeded to drain the phasers to fuel it. The creatures then attacked the shuttle. I ordered Mr. Scott to electrify the hull in order to frighten them away. This strategy worked for a time. When Mr. Scott reached the end of his task, I aided the doctor and Mr. Boma in the burial of Gaetano, as Mr. Boma insisted and time was of the essence. Before we were finished, the creatures attacked one final time. This was when I acquired my ankle injury. I ordered the others to leave me, but they refused and disobeyed my orders, aiding me so that I was able to join them aboard the _Galileo_. This caused a delay that allowed the creatures to reach the shuttlecraft and attempt to hold it down. I ordered the use of the boosters to shake them off so that we could achieve liftoff, despite the fact that this destroyed our chances of a controlled re-entry into the planet's atmosphere." He sighed, didn't look up. "I believe you are already familiar with the rest of my actions, Captain."

"Yes," Kirk said. "I am." He hesitated. "Those actions saved the five of you, Spock. You can't deny that."

"They did not," Spock said slowly, "save Lieutenants Latimer and Gaetano. And even if that were the case, they—they hated me, Jim." His voice didn't break, barely flickered. Only the use of his name when Spock had so carefully used his rank through the majority of their conversation betrayed anything other than his usual impeccable emotional control. "Any errors in judgment aside, it is the duty of the commanding officer to inspire respect and assurance in his officers, a sense of . . . security and belief even in the most impossible of situations. It is what you do." He stared down at his hands. "I appear to have accomplished the opposite."

Kirk looked down, considered, again crossing his arms against his chest. "And that is your report?"

There was a moment, silent and not quite strained, and then, "Affirmative, Captain," Spock said. "In a preliminary sense only, of course, but I believe it covers most of the salient points."

"Well, Spock," Kirk replied, "then, in a preliminary sense only, of course, I have to say that in my opinion, while you did . . . make mistakes, they are not serious enough to warrant any sort of official reprimand."

"But, Captain—" Spock started. He began to push himself to his feet again

Kirk shook his head. Spock hesitated then sank back down, looking vaguely confused. "The purpose of a reprimand," Kirk said, "is chiefly to bring mistakes in judgment or conduct to the attention of the individual in question, most especially when that individual is unaware of or refuses to acknowledge those errors. Alternatively, it is meant to bring those errors to the attention of any future commanding officers. You are already aware of your mistakes in this instance, Spock." Almost painfully so, Kirk added to himself. "The record of your report on the mission will be sufficient to bring those errors in judgment on your part to the attention of any future commander, and I see no reason to permit mistakes made during your first true command experience to adversely affect your chances at it in the future or to do the same to your career in Starfleet. You will learn from those mistakes, that much I'm sure of. It appears you already have." He shrugged. "I have no compelling reason to reprimand you. If I did so, it would be nothing more than a punishment. And that you don't deserve. You performed to the best of your ability and saved the majority of those whose lives you were responsible for. I'm not going to punish you for that. I . . . refuse to."

"Captain," Spock said, a little reluctantly, "I thank you, and yet I still—"

"My command, my decisions, Mr. Spock," Kirk said with a smile. "And my decision, now that I have the pertinent facts, is not to reprimand you. I certainly want you to continue on as my first officer."

Spock let out a breath. "Yes, Captain."

Kirk hesitated, let his thoughts run for a moment, then stepped forward, let his hand fall on Spock's shoulder. "You made mistakes," he said, "but you didn't . . . do badly, either." He smiled down at him. "You'll do, Mr. Spock. Now, get some rest."

Spock sighed, and a deep tension seemed to leave him, a tension that hadn't even been visible on the surface until the easing of it. "If that is what you require of me, sir," he said, and Kirk blinked at him until he realized that in his own way he was teasing back.

"It is!" he said on his way out the door. "I don't even want to see you before your next shift on the bridge tomorrow."

"You shall not," Spock said.

"Good," Kirk replied. "Later, then."

"Yes, Captain," Spock said.

"Jim."

There was a pause. "Jim."

Kirk turned, grinned, and then let the door close behind him.

Sometimes, really, he amazed even himself. That hadn't gone half badly.


End file.
